


New York State of Mind

by imaturtle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:36:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaturtle/pseuds/imaturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skyscrapers tower up around me. The light dusting of snow swirls on the ground and around my boots. People mill around--all on a different path. Some perhaps, are Christmas shopping. I, however, am just walking. Admiring the city decorations.</p><p>A collection of ten vignettes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New York State of Mind

-Trains-

Click. Click. Click. The train's wheels race across the tracks. The city blurs around me, skyscrapers bleeding into the sky. The clouds hover around, still deciding on weather or not to let the first snow fall down.

The wheels scrape the rails while they slow down into the empty station, sounding like someone dragging their nails across a chalkboard. I flinch but don't reject the noise. It's part of the city.

I step off the train with my one suitcase and guitar case. The train drags itself out of the station and I'm left alone. The scent of city streets and opportunity wisp through the air and up my nose.

Skyscrapers tower up around me. The light dusting of snow swirls on the ground and around my boots. People mill around--all on a different path. Some perhaps, are Christmas shopping. I, however, am just walking. Admiring the city decorations. But then I remember how I'm not 'just walking.' I have something to do.

I walk down endless avenues and streets, each one with its own style and people strutting down the sidewalk. Important and familiar numbers and names jump out at me. I remember why I'm here.

The heat hits me before the smell. Lavender and something sweet. I close my eyes and breathe in and out. In and out.

"Can I help you, miss?" Words cloud my mind as I struggle to put together a sentence. It's all a bit overwhelming, but I know why I'm here.

"I need a key for my apartment, I'm just moving in." My tongue forms the words effortlessly, it seems. I push the veil of dark hair out of my eyes to sign some papers. Each signature I give lands me one second closer. Every new page crinkles under my delicate touch.

"Thank you, I'll have someone show you up there. Please, keep the noise down." The kind-hearted woman eyes my guitar case warily while offering an awkward smile.

I nod, the movement a promise. A promise I probably won't keep. But those are the best kind.

1/10

-The Man of Black-

I press my hand against the cool glass. My throat is sore, but it's a familiar sensation. Vocal cords and melodies is all I am. That's all I want to be. Music can be spontaneous, and that's where I get my one sense of freedom from.

I warily eye the clock on the microwave across the room. Barely morning, still too early to get dressed.

A knock on the door. Repeatedly. Over and over. Someone is trying to draw my attention. I set down my guitar and pull my sweater in closer around me. I peer through the circle of glass in the door and take a step back. I'm curious as to why a man stands outside my door, looking impatient.

I swing the door open like one might do to welcome in an old friend, or a dear family member. He brings his gaze up from the floor and stares into my eyes. Suddenly, I feel naked, like this handsome man can see all my secrets just by looking into my eyes.

"Were you singing earlier?" His voice is smooth as stone cut from marble. It slides through the air like melted caramel, soothing to the ears. I nod.

"You have a beautiful voice." Again, his voice mesmerizes me. I'm stuck. His words drip from his mouth like liquid, running over a smooth surface. His words caught me off guard, and I feel heat rise to my cheeks. Positive that I'm blushing, I look at the ground.

His feet are adorned in black boots.

"Thank you." I raise my eyes slowly back to his face, seemingly chiseled from marble. I take notice of his clothes, somewhat old fashioned for him. This man is probably early twenties and he dresses like he's out of time. Black pants and an old black trenchcoat. He's got a deep red tie on under that. His hair is swept to the ceiling, as if gravity works oppositely on him.

"I'm right across the hall. Feel free to stop by for a hot chocolate, or if you just want to sing. I'll still feel your presence if you come or not, your voice has that affect on me." A smile tugs at my lips like an old friend.

I have an audience now. He nods to me then walks to the door opposite mine. He glances over his shoulder once more, then disappears inside. I close my door, but still feeling his presence. He seemed all too calm. If only he could see what that did to me, his voice, his features...

I stop thinking about him, afraid of falling too fast when I'm afraid of heights.

2/10

-Iris-

Strumming the strings on my guitar is the homiest feeling I can get. It's as if everything else just melts away from the sun. My worries are icicles. Music is the ever-powerful heat of spring. Although I'm stuck in the thickness of winter, music has the power to take me somewhere else completely.

It's the early hours of Saturday morning. I tried to sleep, but my apartment is so cold, so empty, so lonely. My guitar is warm. Holding it is like living again in the fields of North Dakota. My mothers laugh and fathers bright eyes...

All gone in an instant.

Roaring flames and crackling tendrils or fire is all I remember of that night. I try not to reminisce much from my childhood, feeling the burn of loss all over is not a feeling I want to be familiar with.

'And I don't want the world to see me'

I've been through too many foster homes, each one a chink on my belt. The hisses of laughter still echo in my memories. I was different.

'Because I don't think that they'd understand'

I never found anyone who burdened the same loss I had. Numerous friends eventually left me. Off to an all-American family to raise them. But no one wanted the girl who watched her parents die in front of her.

'When everything's made to be broken'

My entire life has been one cruel twist of fate after another. I meet someone who understands me. Gone. I think my life will be normal. Wrong.

'I just want you to know who I am'

Music saved me. Because when I heard a song, I know thousands of other people heard that song too. It made me feel connected to the world, connected to humanity.

"Darling, it's two in the morning. I applaud your voice but please, get some sleep." The boy from across the hall whispers loudly through the door. He cares enough to tell me to sleep, so I'll care enough to let the darkness of slumber overtake me.

One last strum on my guitar is his thanks. I set it down on the bench near the window and retire into my bedroom.

3/10

-Frozen-

I'm hopelessly and utterly lost. I was walking home from the department store on forth avenue, and somehow I mixed my streets up and I passed Central Park. I don't know how that even happened.

I stop for a second and sit down. The wooden bench curves under my weight and an uneasy feeling sits in my stomach. I gaze around the end of the park, where I'm sat now, and analyze the familiar parts.

Ice-crusted street lights add a festive spark to the already-beautiful park. The massive clock strikes eight o'clock at night and dings appropriately. I sigh, and notice a puff of fog glide past my lips. I tug my knitted scarf tighter around my neck, finding the bite of the wind unpleasant.

My toes are frozen and I don't know which direction to go to get back to my building. I haven't got anyone to call. I'm frozen. And stuck.

I stand up slowly, realizing the park is nearly empty, aside from the ice-skating arena farther down this pathway.

"Hey! Apartment 78B girl." The smooth voice I recognize instantly. I turn around. His hair is swept back in a beanie and his nose is pink from the cold.

"Apartment 77A guy." I breathily say, smiling.

"You know, it's cold." He states, eyes widening as if he just delivered the speech of the century.

I rub my nose, sniffing, "I gathered that."

He smiles, chocolate eyes shining in the light cast from the streetlights.

"Pretty huh?" He looks around Central Park. I do the same, his mirror.

"The lights come on at 8:30pm." He says, an for the first time, I notice the strings of lights in the wide branches of every tree. I notice the snow landing on various decorations.

"Is that so?" I ask, still turned away from him, taking in the beauty that is yet to come.

"It is." He shifts his boots around in the snow gathered on the path. I follow his foot trace patterns in the snow until an awkward silence sits around us.

"Hot chocolate?" He asks, pointing his gloved hand towards a small hut with steam pouring out the top like water boiling over a pot. I nod.

We walk in silence, I, one foot or so behind his gentle stride. He walks so smoothly, like he's had plenty of time to practice moving without a sound. His boots makes tiny crinkling noises when they connect with the snow covering the pavement.

I readjust my knit cap as we walk, pushing my hair back into my hood to control it's knotted tendrils. Apartment 77A guy glances over his shoulder, probably to make sure I haven't run off, or gotten lost.

He stands up to the window at the hot chocolate booth.

"Two large hot chocolates, please." His deep and powerful voice still amazes me. The sound that radiates from his throat is not one I would expect. The slight accent tells me he's lived elsewhere, but I don't dare ask. Not yet, anyway.

"You don't have to pay for mine." I tell him when he pushes a twenty-dollar bill over the counter.

"Usually, to impress girls, I buy them hot chocolate." He whispers.

I look at him wide-eyed, "So that's your secret."

He chuckles and receives his change.

"Will you still talk to me, even though I've told you my greatest secret?" He asks.

I'm about to answer, but the clock dings to show it is eight thirty. I watch in utter amazement as one by one, the tree light up. The paths through the park are outlined in silver and the trees shimmer with pure white. I can see the snow much clearly now, each flake outlined by magnificent light.

It looks magical. I sip my hot chocolate while the last of the decorations illuminate. The delicate wrappings of strings of lights around the base of each tree must've taken hours to complete.

But it was worth it.

I respond, "I wouldn't have anyone else to talk to if it wasn't you."

4/10

-Zayn-

The coffee maker made intense bubbling noises as it brewed my morning drink. Somehow, I managed to sleep until nine o'clock. I hardly sleep four hours a night so it was a nice treat to get nine hours.

I want to make cookies.

I haven't an explanation for my sudden lust towards baking. I just want to smell something sweet and taste sugar on my lips.

I pour myself a cup of coffee and examine the fridge for all the supplies I need.

A knock at the door makes me close the fridge and saunter across the cold, tiled kitchen floor.

I unlatch the deadbolt and swing the door open.

"Good morning." Apartment 77A guy stands a mere foot away from me, a clear grin on his face.

"What are you up to?" He peers around me, into the kitchen where I have a mess shrewd out on the countertops.

"I feel like making cookies." I stat, taking a small sip of coffee.

"Ooh! Christmas cookies? I never used to celebrate Christmas until moving out here by myself." He says.

"You don't celebrate it with your family?" I ask.

"Nah, they're not too big on Christmas."

"Oh."

"If you haven't caught on by now, I'm trying to hint that I want to come in and make cookies with you." Zayn whispers. I widen my eyes and form my lips into an 'O' shape.

I shift my shoulder backwards and swing open like a door. Apartment 77A guy walks in and takes off his boots.

"I was just getting the ingredients out, I haven't started anything." I say, setting my empty coffee cup in the sink.

"Good. I wouldn't want to be left out." He smiles at me and his eyes twinkle.

Minutes later, we're both deep in conversation while forming little spheres out of cookie dough.

"So you just left? With half of your hair blonde?" I can't help but laugh at his ridiculous story.

"I didn't her to make it worse, so I just dealt with it until it grew out." Breathily, he explains.

I put the tray in the oven and we sit on the couch and talk until the timer dings.

"Frosting?" He questions while I pull the tray out.

"Left cupboard."

He pulls out red and green frosting and opens each container. I get a knife out of a drawer and hand one to him. I put a green 'T' on mine, my first initial.

He puts a 'Z' on his, copying mine.

"Tara?" He asks. I shake my head.

"Tessa." I say. He nods lightly.

"Zachary?" I ask him. He shakes his head.

"It's Zayn." He says. It's a fitting name, mysterious and powerful. It fits him like a glove.

"Nice to meet you, Zayn."

"Likewise, Tessa."

5/10

-Two Weeks-

For a change, I knock on Zayn's door. He answers it almost immediately. The scent that pours out of his apartment is not what I expected. I expected heavy cologne and incense. Instead, it smells of cinnamon and peppermint.

"Good afternoon, Tessa. What do I owe your visit?" He leans against his doorframe and I try not to get lost in his eyes.

"I was wondering some things. Perhaps we can spend Christmas together, since neither of us plan on going and home for the holidays and since we don't have any family around here I just thought that it would be nice to have some company on such a-"

He cuts me off, "That'd be lovely. What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I don't know. Maybe we could just go out of dinner, or walk in the park." I suggest.

"That'd be great. Thank you Tessa." He smiles and I get the hint that he's do e with this conversation. I don't know why I don't feel welcome right now. Maybe he's never had a girl see his apartment, or maybe he does in fact have plans for Christmas but doesn't want me to be alone.

I back away from the door as he closes it softly. I guess I won't know.

Christmas is in exactly two weeks. I figured I better hurry and make plans before something came up.

I don't even have any family to spend the holidays with, but I don't know if Zayn does or not.

Maybe he'll tell me. I've got two weeks to find out.

6/10

-Broken-

"You aren't ticklish are you?" Zayn raises an eyebrow. The movie playing on my television seems unimportant now.

I play it cool, "No, of course not." I return my attention to the TV. The warmth radiating off his body is too great for me to ignore. The small couch doesn't allow us any space of our own. Our thighs touch, sending fire through my veins and chills through my bones.

"Are you sure?" He asks, cracking his knuckles.

"Absolutely positively not ticklish." I turn my head and make eye contact with him. His chocolate brown eyes overpower my dull grey ones. He sees through my lie. I flee the couch, locking myself in the bathroom in a matter of seconds, shutting the door right on him. My laughter can't be contained.

"You'll have to come out eventually, and I'll be waiting. Right here." I get down on my hands and knees and peer under the doorframe. I see his boots.

"Is that a challenge?" I question, standing up and moving over to sit on top of the toilet.

"I think it is." His voice is muffled through the door, but I can't still sense the playfulness in his voice. If I told him not to, he probably wouldn't. But I can't resist a tickle match.

Seconds, minutes, and maybe even an hour ticks by before I hear his boots thump across the floor. Maybe he's giving up.

Foolishly, I unlock the door. It clicks open and I slowly turn the door knob. I step out.

A battle cry rings through the air. I try to retreat to the bathroom, but since he was hiding behind the door he closes it with the palm of his hand.

I dash into the kitchen, using the counter to separate us. I make a move to go one way, he makes a counter move. I see a little boy in front of me, not at all the mysterious neighbor I had come to know. His smile could end wars and cure cancer.

But, in a way, I sense that he's all mine.

When he attempts to go over the counter, that's when I make a mad dash.

He must not know how strong he is, or how petite I am, because when he makes contact with me, I go barreling forward. Straight into a chair and my wooden guitar. A bone-chilling crack is all to be heard. He's frozen. I'm frozen.

Slowly, I lift myself off the chair and observe what I've done.

"Tessa..." I pick up what's left of my guitar. The neck is split in two places and there's a hole in the back. That's all I had left to connect me with my parents. My dad gave me that guitar when I was eight. I carried it from foster house to foster house. And now, it's destroyed.

"You must know I didn't mean to..." He places his hand on my shoulder, but I shrink away from it. I drop the remnants of my normal life on the chair, where they'll sit until I'm brave enough to get rid of them.

With tears in my eyes, I turn and walk across the floor to the door. I open it and look expectantly at Zayn. I can see his heart shatter in his eyes. We were just fooling around, and now I'm telling him to leave.

He's broken more than my guitar today. But my heart as well.

7/10

-Door Between Us-

One week until Christmas. Zayn and I haven't even spoken since the incident where my guitar was ruined. It still sits on the chair, exactly where I dropped it prior to telling Zayn to leave.

I felt bad, but then I would look over at my guitar and remember how he pushed me into it. He hardly even apologized.

I thought today would go on just like all the days prior: me sulking around in my apartment and wishing I could just sing. But I was wrong.

A soft knock on the door got me up from the couch.

I look through the peephole and see him standing out there. One of his hands is resting on the door frame and he leans over with his hair falling over his head. He looks sad.

"Please go away." I say from inside the door.

"Tessa, you know I wouldn't purposely break your guitar. I'll buy you a new one if you really want me to." His voice is broken and ragged, not at all the deep and powerful voice he usually possessed.

His words infuriate me. I swing my door open.

"I've had that guitar ever since my dad gave it to me on my birthday fourteen years ago. I took it with me from foster home to foster home. It was the one thing that still connected me to my parents. My parents are dead, Zayn." The words fall out of my mouth in a blind, hot rage, slowly cooling down until the last sentence, which is more of a whisper.

His mouth is parted slightly and he looks at me with shock.

"Why didn't you say so. I'm so, so, so sorry Tessa." He apologizes again.

"Apologizing won't bring them back." I shut the door.

"My dad's dying, too." Zayn says from behind the door. I look out the peephole and see his head against the door. His body language suggests defeat and extreme sadness.

I don't say anything. I feel bad for snapping at him.

"I'm going home for Christmas. Bradford, England. We'll have to take a rain check." I finally hear his footsteps walk away from my door. I'm surprised he intended on keeping our Christmas plans.

I'm happy, sad, and longing for my young life. A massive rainstorm of emotions wash over me.

And I'm feeling drenched.

8/10

-Lost In My Head-

Tomorrow is Christmas. And I'm alone. At least Zayn's got his family back home, I wonder how his father is.

My guitar still sits on the chair where I left it. I haven't dared touch it, scared it would bring back memories that I've hidden quite well in my mind.

Snowflakes swirl outside in a made flurry. I can hardly see down to the street.

Turning away from the widow, I'm reminded of my parents by looking at the broken guitar and stretched strings. Numbly, I walk over to it like Aurora might walk towards the spinning wheel on her 16th birthday. In a trance, I peel off various stickers and pieces of tape. Most importantly, I pull out the picture I kept hidden inside.

Three people stand in front of a big White House in this picture. A little girl with brown hair and grey eyes, a man with blonde hair, and a lovely woman with short brown hair and a warm smile.

I walk I to the kitchen and use some of the tape I peeled off my guitar to plaster the picture of my family to the fridge. Reminiscing, I forget about my loneliness.

I later pick up the ruined instrument and shove it under my bed. I wouldn't throw it away if it was a pile of splinters.

That brings me back to Zayn. Thinking now, I know we were just messing around and he never intended it to happen. If anything, I should be to blame. I never should've left my guitar out where it could so easily be damaged.

I want him desperately to come back, but I know when someone is sick you better stay by their side until something happens. Good or bad. You can't risk not being able to say your goodbyes.

I never got to say mine, and I'm haunted everyday by it.

9/10

-Lights, Snowflakes, and Central Park-

Christmas is a time of families and just being loved by people. I haven't got any friends or family. I'm completely alone.

Central Park is quiet, everyone probably at home wrapped in blankets watching Charlie Brown's Christmas movie. I don't blame them. They have family.

My nose is cold and so are my fingers and toes. I glance to my right and see a bunch of people ice skating. Couples holding hands and children clinging on to their parents. And here I am, walking alone on Christmas.

I spot an empty bench and walk through the snow towards it. The snow crunches under my boots, each step keeps a rhythm going, like a drummer drumming a constant and steady beat.

The massive clock says it's eight twenty-eight. Zayn showed me the lights, and it feels like forever ago.

I retreat deep into my thoughts, thinking of what I could've done differently and if it would've made Zayn stay for the holidays. It could be days, weeks, or months before he comes back.

My eyes blink up to the trees and pathways of Central Park. One by one, the lights come on. Each one lights up the park even more than the one before it. The pure white light gets closer and closer to me until all trees at lit. The darkness has disappeared, consumed by the bright lights and the reflection bouncing off the un-disturbed fluffy snow.

This is what Christmas is. Taking away the darkness of life and replacing it with the homely feeling people get when they're around people they love. I wish I could say the same. I'm alone.

Or so I thought.

A forced cough makes me snap my head up. My toes, fingers, and nose don't feel cold anymore, because there he stands, a mere four feet away.

I don't know why he came back, how he found me, or why he decided to find me, but I don't care. All my thoughts are pushed away with a broom and dustpan and my gratefulness comes forward. 

I don't know why I waited until this moment to forgive him. Maybe it's the moment. Or maybe it's because it's Christmas, and nobody wants to be alone on Christmas. He takes a step forward and I stand up immediately. No words are spoken, but I lessen the space and hug him. A true, genuine hug.

I step back and see what he brought with him.

He brought a present wrapped in red--suspiciously shaped like a guitar--and a sorry smile.

10/10


End file.
